


Let's Spend the Night Together

by Mazarin221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!John, BAMF!Lestrade, Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of my Lestrade/John date fic, Going Red. What happens after they finally go out to that dinner.</p><p><i>Lestrade stares at John sitting nonchalantly on a battery suspect, then picks up his mobile and calls in their location.  He hangs up, walks over to John and pulls him up from the ground, kissing him hard, adrenaline and pent-up lust coursing through his body. “I’ve never seen a sexier left hook in my entire life,” he says.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Spend the Night Together

“You’re absolutely kidding me. How big do they get?” Lestrade holds the door to the restaurant open so John can pass ahead of him and outside. They fall into easy step, and John continues telling him an anecdote from his time in Afghanistan.

“Close to the size of a plate, I’m not even exaggerating. They’re monstrous. So, this guy Harker was in a unit working with mine, and he was dead scared of them, completely paranoid. So we all gear up one morning and Harker turns ‘round to the rest of us, and there’s one of those freaky bastards on top of his pack. No one wants to tell him but we have to get it off, so Kline, who is just insane for cricket, takes this bat he always has with him and takes a swing at it, but hits Harker in the head. He’s bleeding, is about to take Kline’s head off for hitting him, sees the half-mangled spider on the ground, figures out what just happened, and passes out, dead cold. “

“No he didn’t,” Lestrade laughs. “He’s fine with getting smacked across the head with a cricket bat, but faints seeing the spider?”

“My hand to God. Had a hell of a headache when he woke up, too.”

Lestrade chuckles and shakes his head. Dinner had been amazing, John was brilliant and funny and wry, his devastating blue eyes twinkling with mirth as he talked. He had asked about Lestrade’s family, where he grew up, why he became a police officer. Under most circumstances he doesn’t talk about his family much, but the casual ease with which John asked questions encouraged him to open up, and before long they were chatting like they’d known each other for years, instead of a few months.

It is intoxicating, and lovely, and John Watson is so damn sexy walking next to him in the pale glare of the streetlights that Lestrade really, really wants to kiss him now. They’re walking back to his, the earlier offer of dessert still hanging in the air between them. Lestrade had actually set up a little something – tiramisu and champagne, thinking any chance to see John lick a bit of cream from his lip was a chance worth taking, whether it lead to more or not. He really, really hopes it does. God, to get that body undressed in his bed after dreaming about it so long might be more than he can handle, but he’s certainly willing to try.

He glances sideways to see John watching him as they walk, eyeing him with a look that conveys more heat, more lust, than Lestrade’s ever been subjected to before and confirming that John’s about on the same wavelength that he is. He’ll never make it home; he’ll have to arrest himself for molesting John on the street here in a minute.

“How much longer?” John asks lowly.

“Ten minutes, tops.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll make it much further without shoving you up against a building and kissing you.”

Lestrade shudders. “Christ,” he mutters, then reaches out to tangle John’s warm fingers in his own. The contact is electrifying, all thoughts of any pause for dessert completely gone.  He’ll never make it past the living room, probably, before surrendering.

They turn down Lestrade’s street and Lestrade picks up his pace as he gets closer to home. John breaks into a jog and gets ahead of him, pulling on his hand and turning a bit backwards so he can grin filthily, obviously as impatient get behind closed doors as he is.  He’d heard the rumors of John’s colorful and experienced love life, but he’d always seemed so quiet and reserved at the start – but then again, a crime scene will do that to you.

It had taken Lestrade a couple of months to notice him, but when he did, he fell hard. He’d been outside of a murder scene, watching John dress down Sherlock in a way that was quiet, precise, and lacking in any manifest obscenity, and when he was done, Sherlock looked so completely abashed even Lestrade felt sorry for him. Then John had placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and said something that had set Sherlock laughing, and when John had turned back to Lestrade with a grin on his face, Lestrade sucked in a breath at the realization of how brilliant and gorgeous he was, and that, as they say, was that.

“You’re going to trip of you keep that up, and taking you to A&E isn’t on my list of priorities tonight,” he says, watching John jog backwards, continuing to hold Lestrade’s hand.

“As long as your list of priorities includes having your mouth on my –“ John’s cut off by a deep voice coming from the steps to the basement flat two doors down from Lestrade’s.

“– I told you, you stupid bitch, you’re to be here when I get home, d’you understand?” There’s a sound of a slap, and a woman crying out, and Lestrade sees John’s eyes turn to flint. This is the man he recognizes most, the one that Sherlock trusts unequivocally, the one that stays calm and cool under fire, the one that is suddenly dropping Lestrade’s hand and giving him a look that’s not hard to interpret.

Lestrade nods, his policeman’s instinct taking over in an instant, and he turns off of the pavement to the steps. A young woman is standing, half-turned to the corner of the door with a hand on her face, and a man standing over her.

“There a problem here?” Lestrade asks, and before he can quite dodge it, the young man turns and takes a swing at him, catching him over the eye.  Lestrade’s a bit rattled but steps back, ducks another wild swing, and backs up again, trying to draw the man as far away from the woman as possible. He starts to dive in and get the man’s arms pinned back when the cretin decides to rush him. But before he gets two steps in, John’s there, hooking a foot around the man’s ankle and dropping him to the ground, laying a solid punch across his jaw when he starts to struggle. The assailant is out almost instantly.

Lestrade stares at John sitting nonchalantly on a battery suspect, then picks up his mobile and calls in their location.  He hangs up, walks over to John and pulls him up from the ground, kissing him hard, adrenaline and pent-up lust coursing through his body. “I’ve never seen a sexier left hook in my entire life,” he says, and John giggles against his lips, the blue flashing lights of approaching cruisers reflecting around them.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

It doesn’t take an extraordinarily long time to get things wrapped up at the scene, but between taking statements and giving statements, Lestrade wonders if it’s too late to continue their date. His eyes kept wandering to wherever John was while they were talking to the victim, and every time, John was looking straight at him, almost unreadable.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he says, skirting around the barrier they’d set up for the ambulance. “I’d have understood if you wanted to just head home after that.”

John smiles. “Not a chance. You still owe me dessert, remember?”

Lestrade just nods and grasps John’s hand to lead him to his front door. He’ll be happy to feed John tiramisu and champagne, watch him lick his lips, and wistfully think about the night that might have been. It went so well, though, and they did kiss, after all, so he thinks he might manage a next time.

He opens the door and flicks on the lights, leading John through the living room toward the kitchen, where he starts to open the fridge until a hand comes around to close it again.

“I think I’ve got all the dessert I need right here,” John croons in his ear, his hands coming up under Lestrade’s jacket to wrap around his waist. The heat of John’s body is pressed along his back, the hard shape of his arousal fitted against Lestrade’s arse. “Been hard for you for an hour, maybe more. Want to fuck you into the mattress, make you come. But if you don’t want that tell me, and we’ll eat dessert and I’ll go home, and we’ll try again another time.”

Every syllable is a bolt of arousal, his cock hardening almost instantly. “I want you so badly it hurts,” Lestrade whispers, and turns in John’s arms to face him.  He unbuttons John’s shirt and pushes it down over his arms, admiring the hard muscle of John’s bicep before bending to kiss his throat, sucking lightly, tasting the sweet-salty tang of John’s sweat and the skin under his ear. He’s delicious, delectable and Lestrade is pushing him backward toward the bedroom, wanting to strip him bare, ready to taste all of him, everything he can.

John breaks away from him for a moment, face flushed and pupils blown. “Let me, please,” he says, and reaches out to slowly unbutton Lestrade’s shirt, pulling it from his trousers before tossing it on the floor. Lestrade sighs as John presses kisses over his chest, then gasps as he takes a flat nipple between his lips. Lestrade feels like he’s on fire, each touch of lips a skittering flame running along his nerves.

“Christ, John,” he moans,  thrusting against John’s hip for a moment before pulling back to toe off his shoes and drop his trousers, trying not to be too self-conscious about John’s first look at…well, at everything. It doesn’t appear he has anything to worry about because John’s eyes are wide, hungry, raking over his body as if he can’t decide where to start.

“Lie back on the bed,” he says, and the flash of command in his eyes has Lestrade on his back against the pillows in an instant, watching John slowly peel off the rest of his clothes. The view Lestrade has is spectacular, John’s thick cock hard and curving away from his body, the foreskin pulled back from a beautifully flared head that’s flushed dark with blood. Despite whatever John has planned, as soon as he climbs on the bed Lestrade grasps his hand and pulls him up so he’s straddling Lestrade’s chest, his penis right at eye level. John smiles and lifts an eyebrow, looking very interested in their new position.

“What was it you wanted?” Lestrade asks, and leans just slightly forward to lick the head of John’s cock.

“Oh, fuck. Yes, I do want,” John pants, bracing his hands on the wall above Lestrade’s head. He pushes forward a touch, charmingly obvious in his request for more. Lestrade is more than happy to comply, taking John into his mouth to kiss and lick and suck the heavy weight of his cock, opening his mouth wide to take as much as he can, wrapping his hand around what he can’t.  He’s happy to settle there, reveling in John’s moans and sighs, tasting the bitter pre-come on his tongue until John pulls away gently and sits across Lestrade’s hips.

“Too close, God, you’re good at that.” John slides back until Lestrade’s cock is pressed in the crease of his buttocks, canting his hips slightly to rub at his shaft. Lestrade’s eyes roll back in his head at the sensation.  “But I do have plans for you, if you remember,” he continues playfully. “On your stomach, please.”

Lestrade shifts over, a thrill running down his back, hoping like mad that John will make good on the promise he made in the kitchen. He feels John’s fingers trace down his spine, and turns his head to watch John as he leans off of the bed to rifle in his clothes, coming up triumphant with a condom and a small sachet of lube.

“Sure of yourself, weren’t you?” Lestrade cracks, but lifts up and pushes a pillow under his hips.

“Motto of a doctor and a soldier. Be prepared for any situation. Now, spread open for me, you gorgeous thing.”  John pushes out a bit of the lube onto his fingers and waits.

Lestrade needs a second to recover from that bit but he does, pulling his thighs apart so John can kneel between them, the cool shock of lubed fingers pressing at his hole making him arch his neck.

“Oh that’s nice,” he says, leaning his forehead back on his folded arms. “Dreamed about you with me, like this.”

“Did you, now?” John says, dipping two fingers just inside, gently rubbing until Lestrade can feel himself relaxing, starting to open under his hand. “Is it what you’d hoped for?”

“More. “ He hears the tear of the condom packet and suddenly John’s there, the blunt head of his cock pushing into Lestrade’s body, sliding in agonizingly slowly, smoothly.

“That’s good,” John grits out, his body trembling with the effort of remaining in control. “Because it’s more than I’d hoped for, too.” He pushes flush against Lestrade’s arse, his hands sliding forward along the bed to rest on Lestrade’s hands, tangling their fingers together.

 Lestrade is dizzy, feeling almost overwhelmed by being completely surrounded by the man he’d desired for so long, the pleasure pulsing deep in his body when John finally starts to thrust. He wants to reach for his cock, the press against the sheets maddening, but he can’t when John has his hands pinned down.

“Wanted you that first day,” he growls, snapping his hips forward sharply, making Lestrade cry out in delight. “Laid back in that chair, giving Sherlock hell about a drugs bust. God, wanted to kiss that smug smile off of your face right then.” John speeds up his rhythm for a few strokes before pulling them both over on their sides.

Lestrade moans in relief when John reaches around to pull at his cock, rocking back and forth between the twin pleasures of John’s hand stroking him and Johns cock buried to the hilt in his arse.  “Fuck, harder,” he says, and John kicks his hips with more force, gasping with the effort, the cadence starting to unravel as he comes.

“Greg, Oh God, I’m coming – “ he gets out before his words dissolve into cries and he shoves hard against Lestrade’s body.

The pulsing burn in his arse is all he needs before he’s coming too, all over John’s hand, the sheets, his hip.

They lay there, John still inside his body, their breathing harsh in the quiet room.  Neither says a word, until John pulls away gently and disposes of the condom and pads to the bathroom to get a cloth. He gently cleans up Lestrade’s hip and swipes at the sheets before he lies back down and pulls Lestrade across his chest.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Lestrade says quietly, idly dragging his fingers across John’s chest.

“You hadn’t noticed me,” John says. “Sherlock knew, of course, but he told me to wait, that you had ‘observational lag,’ as he called it.”

Lestrade rolls his eyes. “Of course he would, the arse. Every time I saw you, I was busy with other things. It took a while until I had the chance to make a study.”

“And now?”

Lestrade puts on his best Sherlock voice. “And now, I have deduced that I find you’re amazing. And sexy, and a fantastic fighter, and a damn good shag.” He laughs as John giggles.

“Oh Jesus, I’ll never be able to hear his voice again without laughing.”

“Nor I. But you’re someone I want to see more of. And not just at crime scenes.”

“Good. Because I want that too. And Sherlock now owes me £50. We had a bet.”

Lestrade groans and whacks John with a pillow, John’s delighted laughter filling his room, his heart, his life, and he’d not change it for anything.

Even if he now owes Sherlock £50.

 

 


End file.
